


Threaded

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Soul Bond, another AU yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red is the link that ties us to life; Mother Earth is our home; with her we never strife. Pink is love; green is jealousy, Blue is worry; orange is empathy. Gold is the most powerful bond of all, This bond cannot break; cannot snap or fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Threaded

The links are there; always have been. Everyone has them; without them, you are Anchorless; a wanderer.

Everyone is linked to the earth with a tiny red string, attached to them at all times. Even when they are in an aeroplane, flying at 500 miles above the ground, clouds a brilliant white around them, there is always the red thread that reassures them with the Earth below.

The only way that link disappears is through death.

_I'm alive,_ she, the Earth, hums under their feet, a constant reminder to everyone. _Treat me well, for as I live and breathe you will too._

* * *

John Watson is certainly not Anchorless.

They learn a chant in school; it's one of the first things John can remember learning. The chant, known by so many, and for good reason.

 

  
_Red is the link that ties us to life;_  
Mother Earth is our home; with her we never strife.  
 _Pink is love; green is jealousy,_  
 _Blue is worry; orange is empathy._  
 _Gold is the most powerful bond of all,_  
 _This bond cannot break; cannot snap or fall._

His five year old brain doesn't understand the implications. With a Bond made of gold... It will never snap. The two people are linked forever. It is more tying than marriage and far, far more rare.

Only two people designed for each other can have a gold Bond.

* * *

People can see your Bonds - obviously - but only when you are very close to another with the Bond. When Harry is not in the same room as John the Bond disappears from view; still there, just not as obvious.

A woman comes in to school one day, however, with a gold Bond. It trails after her, sparking brilliantly in the sunlight, not disappearing like normal Bonds do, and she stands in front of the whole school and weaves a story. About how much her Bondmate meant to her; about how much they went though together. Life and death and about how, for a while, they had no Bond, making the thrilled audience gasp.

"And it came back in golden light," she finishes with a tiny smile. "And I know I'll love no-one else more."

* * *

The link to his mother is a soft pink; of adoration and love and trust. People stare as mother and son walk through crowds, the humble baby pink a constant link between the two of them. People are envious, and with good reason.

A Bond as strong as that is rare, and with the strength of that Bond, it is unlikely to break, if ever.

His father's is the colour of honey, before the man disappears. The Bond just sort of fades away, then. Still there, just not as important.

His Bond with Harry is never so strong. His end is deep blue, always worried. Her end is a sickly looking green; jealousy. He doesn't even know why.

And then one day they're fighting over her stupid drinking habits, and there is a snap, and the Bond breaks.

And that's it.

* * *

His second Bond break is merely weeks later when his mother dies. There is nothing to attach him to her now, and as the woman stops breathing and her heart stops pumping, it just fades into nothingness. Pink to white to grey to only empty space.

Harry tries to cry on him at the funeral. Her end of the Bond is there; a tentative brown. Guilt. It flashes in and out of existence, and Harry is crying, and John shakes his head and waves his hand through the Bond and it just falls to dust, tiny vortexes of dust falling into nothing.

"Bond broken cannot be repaired," is all John says coldly, and doesn't feel anything when she cries more and falls into drink.

* * *

Afghanistan brings John a lot of home truths. Like, Bonds are fleeting, in the moment things. Only gold Bonds matter, and the rest are just there for moments before breaking or fading or just - it.

And gold Bonds are rare. Amazingly so. Out of all the platoons, only one man has a gold Bond, and the man he's Bonded to he's never even met.

It's impossible; he knows that. But that works with him.

"How did you get it?" John asks one day when they're sat at base camp. "What happened?"

The bloke just shrugs and smiles. "Met someone online. We talked. And it just appeared one day." He plucks at the Bond, then smirks at John's awed expression. Bonds aren't physical things... "You know, with a gold Bond, you can hear the other person all the time, right?"

John didn't know that but nods anyway.

"That's why gold Bonds are so rare. Because the two of you are literally meant for each other. It just... recognises that."

* * *

Then John is shot and he can feel all his Bonds - all of them - and they're all stretching at the same time and just like that they shatter and pain so much pain and there is nothing the world is empty and he can only feel breathing below him and he is alone and he hates it and that is _everything_.

* * *

London holds no appeal for him now.

There is only the Earth, and that's all there is. She breathes below him, reminding him that he's alive. His shoulder aches and his hip aches and everything just sort of hurts.

He sort of wishes his life Bond had shattered along with every other Bond.

And then there is Mike Stamford, and a tentative Bond starts there. The deep sea green of nostalgia. And it feels reassuring to know that despite the fact he is broken and not whole and never has been and never will be again, that people are still willing to Bond; people are still willing to attach themselves to him, no matter how insignificant the Bond is.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes.

The man, at first glance, seems Bondless. Certainly acts it too. But there is a tiny white thing with Mike - respect. To Molly, the same colour, while her end is the desperate pink-red of infatuation.

John doesn't even bother extending an offering Bond out to Sherlock, and the man seems to understand it more than most. Bonds need time and feelings to solidify, and he has neither (and really, why would a man as brilliant and handsome as Sherlock Holmes want to be reminded of broken John Watson, ex-army doctor and, frankly, good for nothing human being in general?).

* * *

"Seen a lot of injuries then. Violent deaths." Sherlock is daring him - daring him.

"Well. Yes." It's true. He's seen that final moment of life where all the Bonds tense and then just snap and even the lone red life Bond is gone and it's just an empty shell where a person used to be.

"Bit of trouble too I bet."

"Of course. Yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much." At least, that's what John should think; John knows that more than anyone.

"Want to see some more?" Sherlock asks, the thrill of the chase a glint in his eye.

There is only one logical answer. "Oh god, yes."

The two of them run down the stairs, laughing brilliantly.

* * *

Sherlock has no interest in Bonding with anyone - anything - however, when the two of them are in the taxi, Sherlock just tells John his whole life story, and he would say he was sorry if he weren't so incredibly impressed.

"That," he hears himself say, still analyzing everything the dark haired man has said. "Was brilliant."

(In the space between them, an invisible Bond appears. John can feel it; knows it's there, and he can't help the flair of white hot triumph that runs through him.)

* * *

At Angelo's, the first few strands of the Bond appear between them. Sherlock's is white - as are all his Bonds, ironically - and John's is a mulberry purple. Awe. Respect.

Sherlock very almost smirks at it but John just rolls his eyes and it changes to match Sherlock's end.

Out of nowhere they're running, and the cane is long forgotten as the Bond solidifies; not quite 'flatmates' or 'friends' or 'colleagues' or anything like that. Frankly, John can't identify what the soft, creamy yellow of the Bond means, or why it's there. (Later, he will consider Googling it, but changes his mind at the last second. Some things, he supposes, aren't meant to be found out.)

* * *

John shoots a man for him.

It's not a surprise when respect is added to the Bond. John won't deny shooting a man; it's completely true. And then a strand of purple is added and the bond just sort of tightens and John feels his chest constricting because Sherlock likes him. Out of the whole human race, Sherlock wants to make a stronger Bond with _him -_

and it hurts his head to think about, just a little.

* * *

Sherlock is... well, John really doesn't want to say something that will put Sherlock in a bad light, but... he's messy. And confusing.

One second he's sat in an armchair, watching John like he's the most interesting thing he has ever seen - and the next second it's just the rolling of eyes and he's walking around the flat, dressing down like a cloak flapping behind him, papers flying around as he shouts and rants and complains that people are _boring_ and _predictable_ and _I could really do with a serial killer around now you know_ as though John is the one who is going to go around murdering people simply for Sherlock's amusement.

* * *

There are several nasty cases - a stolen diamond, which Sherlock proclaims is 'boring!' and just sort of lazily throws away. The Blind Banker, with the cyphers, and the shooting, and the hairpin, and the Bond just never changes; if anything, Sherlock likes John more, and it doesn't look like it's going to snap any second now; it's the same thickness as twine.

And then it happens.

Moriarty appears. Steals John away. John can feel the twang as his Bonds are suddenly stretched and he almost cries out with the pain of it. His Bonds, once sent out so casually, as are dangerously easy to snap; he keeps them safe, somehow. Not really sure how.

And then he shoves him into a jacket of Semtex, and leers, and giggles, and tells John exactly what to say and when to say it.

John can see the betrayal in Sherlock's eyes and the Bond, fragile as anything, falls to dust. John almost weeps.

He grabs Moriarty around the neck, keeping his Bonds carefully open; carefully, in case Jim himself tries to send one out, and then all he can hear is his pulse and "RUN, SHERLOCK!" and then the Bond snaps back twice as bright and brilliant and there is a loop running around the Bond, a sort of shocked coral pink, and it makes the whole Bond shine in the mess of the whole thing, and Moriarty just smirks at the two of them and very almost giggles.

The only reason John releases him is because the snipers arrive. And he is - despite what their bond will be - always happy to die for Sherlock.

And then: "Catch you... later," Moriarty drawls, and swaggers away.

It's only then that John lets relief flood through him; watches as it ripples through the Bond, like a wave on the pool next to them, and Sherlock just pulls the jacket off, and it's another Bond rippling towards him, and he grabs it, pretending it's a physical thing; this is dark blue and it's worry; crippling worry, and John just sends back his own of amusement, and how amusement is possible he's not sure because he's never wanted to hug Sherlock more than anyone in those few moments and bugger that went through the Bond but Sherlock just looks at John, looks at him.

"That thing you did," he gets out. "That was, uh... Good."

John almost flushes at the praise but he's too busy being thankful he's even around to flush and then -

"Sorry boys! I'm just sooooo~ changeable!"

There is a gun. Pointing at the jacket.

Sherlock glances at him. Are you ready to die? his gaze asks, determination filtering through their shining white ribbon of a Bond.

John just nods. Sends back what little determination and willingness to make Moriarty go down with him back through, adding another layer of green to the Bond.

All three of them freeze, Moriarty grinning like the cat who got the cream.

_Stalemate_.

And then, a Bond is sent out from Moriarty. A deep red; the colour of blood.

John rejects it without a second thought. And then, he's not even sure how, the bit of thread removes itself from Moriarty and sort of... Joins his and Sherlock's Bond. This is possibly the strongest he has seen and ripples in an unfelt wind, and he knows Moriarty can see it because-

_BeeGees. Stayin' Alive._

It all becomes fragmented there, John's mind not able to keep up with the cloying scent of chlorine and Sherlock's mind which is currently working at a million miles an hour and he can feel it; feel that _intelligence_ running through him.

All he does know in the morning he wakes up in his own bed, alive, has a recurring nightmare about Moriarty and chlorine and shoes, and every time he wakes up in a cold sweat, Sherlock sends through the bliss of playing violin and he falls back to sleep, safe in the soothing melodies Sherlock sends him through their Bond.


End file.
